Leave And Return
by SIB
Summary: [TezukaFuji] About distances, the unspoken, and why it has to be Germany.


**Author Notes:** I may call this a spur of the moment. Say, I re-watched the whole episodes of Prince of Tennis and became slightly too annoyed that a certain captain hadn't came back to his prodigy ^^ Then I read the manga and mused why it was Germany in the anime and not Kyushu. So the story will be more like my rambling than a fanfic, sorry for that. 

**DISCLAIMER:** Mine? I seriously wish.

**WARNING:** Contains Tezuka/Fuji, spoiler for those who don't know what Tezuka does with his injured shoulder.

_Italicized words_ mean the words are considered important by me.

'Words in here' are for dialogues happened in the past.

Leave And Return 

**Author: SIB**

"Unfair!"

Fuji Shuusuke halted his casual strides at the resentful yell erupting from a certain impetuous acrobatic player. His eyes darted to a sight where Kikumaru, wearing an indignant look, could be seen waving his hands frantically in front of their tallest regular.

An amused smile emerged on his lips. Inui and his juices; no doubt it was the problem since the juice was the only thing that could bring his best friend to display such level of hostility, aside from any irresponsible consumption done without his direct permission to his precious toothpaste. Ah, and of course every upsetting matter regarding their beloved vice-captain. Fuji still remembered perfectly when the redhead went berserk over a slapdash insult given to his partner by one of their former opponents. Sometimes Fuji wondered why the two hadn't gotten together yet despite their blatant affection toward each other.

However, his current state didn't seem to involve Oishi and the tensai could hardly think of why Kikumaru would argue about his toothpaste with Inui during their practice hour. It ought to have something to do with their new training menu, a five-balls match which, to almost everybody's dismay, granted the loser a pitcher of purple-coloured Inui juice.

Still with a smile, he approached his best friend. "What's the matter, Eiji?"

"Ah, Fuji!" The acrobatic player turned to him, obviously seeking a reliable support. "Inui said I still have to drink his juice! It's unfair! I have defeated him!" His index finger pointed to a motionless figure of Momoshiro lying a few metres from their spot with a face full of agony.

"Momoshiro has taken his share and now it is your turn, Eiji," the bespectacled regular countered calmly. His right hand extended a glass containing the highly flavored juice to the redhead who was showering it with repulsive look. "You only won four out of five balls and thus should have a glass as well. If you set a perfect win, you wouldn't have any."

"Mou~ you didn't say that before, Inui! I would try harder if you did!"

An ominous light glinted on the nontransparent surface of his quadrangle spectacles. "To belittle our adversary is a habit we must expunge. Perhaps this can be a little reminder for you in the future." His gaze was pinned to Kikumaru and his stubborn expression. "Or you prefer a pitcher, Eiji? I did say that anyone not obeying the rules would get a full pitcher, didn't I?"

With a desolate look, the red-haired regular took the offered glass and emptied it in one gulp. As expected, he sank to the ground straight away and would have kissed the hard floor if only Fuji's arm wasn't fast enough.

"Eiji was right though, Inui," the prodigy commented with a serene smile, positioning his unconscious friend properly on the ground. "I would have risked a ball or two to try your new juice if you told us that."

"Which means you manage a clean sweep," Inui muttered to himself, scribbling the new data vigorously on his devoted notebook. A part of him was pleased that the tensai won; the fact that there was someone who in fact liked his juices had never settled on him well, but of course Fuji and his odd taste were not one to blame. "Ah, isn't your opponent Kaidoh?"

Fuji watched in amusement as the tallest regular made his way to stalk a certain mamushi. Seeing the horrified look on Kaidoh's face made him wonder how actually the juices tasted like on their normal tongues. Not that he deplored his own tongue; it was rather fun to watch his teammates in various miserable expressions while he himself was as good as unaffected. His smile stretched even wider at the coming of his vice-captain who instantaneously fussed over the comatose state of his double partner. It was every day's sight in their regular practices which he enjoyed immensely. Everything was flawlessly all right and the day flew normally, as normal as the preceding weeks that had passed, until that question rose.

"Oishi, have you heard anything from Tezuka recently?"

It was Ryuzaki-sensei's voice and it froze him to his spot. _Tezuka._ The only name he wished not to hear. 

"No, Sensei. But he has never replied my e-mails anyway, except the ones I send before we will meet a tournament."

Still with an indistinguishable smile frozen to his lips, Fuji left the two absorbed in their conversation involving the one he was indisposed to bring to mind. Now when he thought about it, for how long he hadn't heard that name being uttered? Several days? Weeks? Perhaps when Oishi announced the e-mail he received from _him_ before their match with Rikkaidai was the last time and it was a month ago, even though the vice-captain had never bored in reminding them that he was only the _acting captain._

Treading his way silently to the changing room, he cast a glance around the lining courts and its vicinity. Half of the regulars were unconscious and the wide-awake ones were way too busy to notice his sudden retreat at least for the moment. Without changing his tennis outfits, he retrieved his bag and headed home. It was okay to be undisciplined once at a time; he wouldn't even mind if Oishi decided to punish him for good twenty laps around the court tomorrow. His spirit, however, had been dampened by _that word_.

If someone able to read his mind actually asked why he was disinclined to hear the name, Fuji doubted he would be able to give a definite answer. Everything he felt about Tezuka was ambiguous, not to mention awfully vague. A person so outstanding, relentless, strict, enigmatic, the gallant viceroy of Seigaku. Undoubtedly he respected him, but to go more than that? Even if his feeling were agreeable in their society, he would still find it wrong. Yet his heart spoke differently; it always flared in something undeniably close to delight every time he managed to discern into those hazel orbs. Or if Tezuka frowned in disagreement at his recurrent mischief toward their teammates. Unbeknownst to his conscience, they had stepped into the territory where friends existed. 

At the beginning of the third year, they walked even closer to the center of the circle. Understanding, no matter how small it was, began to embellish their days. The moments they had shared in silence, in nothing but contentment at each other presence, were one which could turn every married couple green with envy. Verbiage they had never bothered.

Tezuka was probably the first who could _almost_ comprehend him in many ways as he began to find his captain pretty easy to read. He knew Tezuka's anxiety of the well-being of their team for the time that had yet come to pass. He understood Tezuka's hope in Echizen while the captain distinguished his problematic relationship with his younger brother. And they stepped more and more closer until they had no more distance to demolish, except if they were willing to learn more of the title of friend they had placed on their profound relationship. 

Then the moment of awkwardness rose. Suddenly he felt as he had strayed from the path of friends, into an alien passageway filled with tons of unfamiliar emotions. And there was no turning back, no matter how hard he searched and sought. He had to face it.

Despite his constant denial of what he felt, there were times that left him uncertain nevertheless pleased even so slightest, at the inconspicuous shapes of affection Tezuka occasionally granted him. They brought him hopes along with doubts of to where the trail before him would lead. However, the barrier of courteousness and civility he had put forth was far from feeble, not easy to be taken down. And ever since it was how he lived, with treacherous emotions suppressed behind his mundane smile.

Until that moment. Until Tezuka sank to his knees in his match with Atobe.

Anxiety blinded him; it was what Fuji remembered as he rushed to his captain's side. When the deep annoyed voice stopped his strides, he could have been angry and yet he wasn't. He understood the passion, the determination to bring Seigaku to National and thus hardly surprised when Tezuka decided to finish the match. No, he wasn't angry that time. His rage gradually surfaced later, much later. No one to blame, he knew, it was Tezuka's decision and still he couldn't help but to detest Atobe.

A week, it was the time he had given to the Hyoutei captain to prepare himself, to abate all fatigues his match with Tezuka had caused, and then he challenged him. Not in a formal occasion; it was but a game to satisfy one's curiosity along with an unobtrusive touch of revenge. There were times during the match when Fuji was allured to try several methods to bring the rival captain the similar injury he had made on Tezuka. His sense of fairness hindered him though, for he knew Atobe was merely playing with all he had back then. The match, however, had never ended since both sides managed a continuous tiebreak. No one surpassed the other by two points and thus it continued until night fell and both felt it would be exceedingly troublesome if they were to resume until a victor was elected, which might lead them to more hours in sweat and weariness. He might not win, yet he had given Atobe his well-deserved blow.

Fuji Shuusuke had never forgiven them who hurt those he _loved_.

There, he had said it.

Was it really love? A clear answer even he himself couldn't give. The emotion he suffered was too incomplete, too iniquitous to be love. Therefore he kept it hidden and walked his days as nothing had happened.

The tension in their tennis club steadily grew worse since Tezuka was injured. Being a conscientious vice-captain and all, Oishi tried his best to recover them from their anxiety by suggesting several relaxing activities, such as mountain climbing. That moment, Fuji realized, perhaps was his first taste of that something-more-than-friend as he took a deeper look into his captain, sharing his dream and pain in no spoken words but simply the presence of the other. It steadied him on a more solid ground after the preceding days when he had to walk blindly and for the first time he had let hope to flicker, small as it was.

On the next day, Tezuka dropped another bomb. 

Fuji had heard whispers being exchanged by the club members about their captain's imminent departure to treat his injury in Kyushu. It was far from surprising since he knew Tezuka would do so much; his tennis was put at stake. But Germany? 

Back then, he recalled, akin to the other regulars' reaction, he soon lost his voice as if he was benumbed by the frost of winter. The gaze from those eyes, steady, unwavering, delved into him like a driller and he knew the captain was set. Nothing could possibly change his mind. Somehow, Fuji felt the barrier circling his heart had thickened. No one defied the unforeseen decision for they knew only too well that Tezuka would do anything, if it meant to bring tennis back into his life. However...

'Why Germany?'

It was an abrupt crossing of the lines of formality which still partitioned them off and yet he risked it as they were left alone. Fuji had taken one step further, invading his captain's personal space. Cerulean met brown, asking, demanding for an answer.

'Why do you ask?' Tezuka withdrew for the slightest bit, annoyance coloured his voice.

The prodigy didn't pursue, merely enthroning a vague smile in half-hearted defeat. Warning he heard rattling clearly in the given reply and Fuji was too prudent to push him further. It was where they had left the uncertainty, dangling still on a frail strand of what friend meant. Unanswered.

And Tezuka left, entrusting his teammates to move forward only with his silent formless support. Fuji could pretend that the sudden vicissitude hadn't affected him even the slightest with his level of acting and the quickly piled-up resentment he felt to himself of being a supreme fraud. The most intimate form of their liaison he could obtain now was in Oishi's voice, reading their captain's short yet clear message every prior to a match. If they were in fact _friend_, certainly the bond wouldn't break that easily, would it?

Closing his eyes, Fuji halted in front of the gate guarding his house. It was too late, nothing he could do would make amend. Tezuka had seen it as well, the danger their relationship could bring upon them and he knew their future was too much a precious to be put at stake in exchange of this baseless emotion. It was never an option. A sigh escaped his lips as he rummaged through his duffel bag to find his key.

A figure appeared at the end of the street and he felt his bag slipped off his grasp, colliding the asphalted earth.

Wind was whispering silently, echoing the faint yet audible steps in streaks of moans as if a soft cry was ricocheting in the turbulent air. His hand fell to his side, powerless, all form of strength was drained out of him. Time seemed to have stopped as the rest of the world evaporated into pale strands of mist, eclipsed by the steady sound of approaching footfalls. Heart pounded, pulse quickened, breath withheld, eyes flung open, widely, to observe keenly the one he used to know so well.

The strides ceased, leaving them with a space less than one metre in between. Russet eyes glimmered in indifference behind gold-rimmed glass, a strong reminiscence of what should be past, of what should be forgotten.

"Fuji." The deep voice reverberated, a solid proof of his existence, not a mere figment of poignant imagination. The calling left him numb in the flush of uncertainty for it was equally cold and yet differently passionate. Dark-brown eyes mirrored the same vacillation he suffered, swarmed by flows of perplexity and yet unsullied determination flared protuberantly. The absence of longing and yearn, however, didn't go unnoticed by the tensai and he inwardly flinched. Bit by bit, he tried to recollect his ruined composure.

A benign smile crawled back to his lips as the black eyelashes fluttered down to obscure the pair of incandescent orbs, a direct kaleidoscope of his emotion. Bathed in grace only an astute prodigy could possess, Fuji took his bag, warding dust off its navy surface. Amiably, almost too calmly, he replied, "Tezuka. I have no idea you've returned from Germany. Why didn't you send a word to Oishi?"

No reply was given as the taller guy continued to stare with a degree of solemnity Fuji had never beheld before. Minutes passed without any of them presenting the slightest hint of detectable mobility, too engulfed in their own realm where wind and gaze could convey words. He waited for the silence to break, for a word to be uttered or a gesture to be exerted. Not idly would his captain appear in front of his house, which was such an unlikely place; Tezuka had something up on his sleeve and the tensai was intrigued to find out, even if he would lament his choice terribly later.

"Fuji." Here it came. 

"Take a walk with me."

The other guy almost blinked in surprise. Sharing a conversation with Tezuka had never been unexciting, just like his request never been anything but command. Fuji felt the edges of his mouth were pulled upward by a pair of unseen hands. It seemed that he did miss the captain and his authoritative ways.

"And I thought I could warm my hands once I got home." A sigh of false reluctance accompanied the merry voice. "If you say so, Tezuka."

The tall captain spun on his heels and retraced his way. Still with a smile, Fuji flung his bag back to his shoulder, falling into pace next to him. A gush of air stream rammed the lean body, tousling his light-brown hair into a muddled mass of gossamer floss. Flattening them back in almost to no avail, the prodigy sent his mute companion a sideway glance. Tezuka hardly changed save in the matter of height, which seemed to have increased slightly –Inui would know better than him. And the hesitation displayed in his eyes, while not too manifestly shown, still rousing his suspicion. Hesitation rarely visited the stoic face and when it did, the situation must be nowhere near good.

A thought crossed his mind. "Ah, Tezuka, how is your left shoulder?" It was unbelievably ridiculous that he had actually forgotten the most important matter concerning his captain.

"It has healed," was the only answer he obtained. As short as usual and very Tezuka. Fuji widened his smile, both at the encouraging thought that their captain would fight alongside them again and the length of the reply itself. 

"That's good," he breathed out a genuine relief. "Then we will have you again for the National."

Once more, no answer came as they continued to walk the hard terrain of dark grey tarmac. The road ahead of them was pretty desolate since the ashen clouds coating the sky were obviously not an enticement to have a little walk. Tezuka himself, as far as he knew, wasn't a rain enthusiast and as any normal people did, would choose to find a shelter if rain were to come than saunter aimlessly with the risk of get drenched. Yet, his leader remained quiet that the noncommittal silence stretched between them felt almost deafening albeit the strident weep of the wind.

Blocks they had passed, lines of houses, large and small, a nearby park which looked slightly ominous in the growing darkness, another long row of turbid white wall stretched on both sides. Fuji didn't mind a pleasant evening stroll, still he would say an itinerant trip in such a unfriendly weather felt less enjoyable than the idea of being in a warm room under a thick blanket. 

Another glance was given to the person beside him. The impassive mask was contemplative and the russet eyes, while setting their gaze on a junction far at the end of the street, were vacant, lost in deep thought. The tensai wondered what could possibly take his levelheaded captain up to that point and why it involved him. If it was a problem regarding the tennis team, wouldn't it be more convenient if he asked Oishi's advice instead of him? And if it didn't concern tennis, Fuji could hardly think of one beside tennis which would occupy Tezuka that much.

All of a sudden, the steady paces were stopped. Fuji turned to see if finally his captain would reveal what was in his mind when he found a pair of lips was pressed on his own. Unprepared described his state adequately and yet it was more correct to say that he was shocked. Startled by the sudden attack and the heavy force complementing it, he fell backward that his back collided with the wall successfully.

Tezuka's lips left his slightly trembling one, the hazel eyes were pinned on his own marine depths as to founder himself in the sea of swarming emotions. Fuji felt his palpitating heart pulsated erratically, sending throb after throb to his entire being as he helplessly stared back at those too close spheres of chocolate. He could sense the other's heat, his inner tremor concealed by the flawless mask, and realization dawned of why this person had vacillated before.

Slowly Fuji raised his right hand, caressing his captain's cheek almost in hesitant manner, sensing a cold tinge of metal from the spectacles and the warmer skin of the rest. Uncertainty danced still in his fully revealed eyes; it was something wrong, sinful even, to give it a taste, knowing that perhaps they would be unable to let go when reality called. An emotion so intense that it almost shattered them both and yet a peccadillo, an obstacle for their future and the world beyond, where they would be secluded from looks of contempt and mockery. His fingers traced the high proud cheekbone, the angular jaw line, the rose-colored pliant lips, so carefully as if it was a gloriously sculpted statuette. Indeed it was; for him Tezuka was the greatest piece of art made by God.

"Why Germany?" his voice cracked, a hoarse echo of so many unspoken others as he tried to cross the line once more. This time, not a withdrawal which greeted him, but a flash of self-reproach in the russet eyes. 

"I thought I could forget," the deep rich voice flowed, coated still with rime. "But I can't." 

Distance and space failed. What else then, which could make them forget? Determination? It seemed so far and vague, out of their reach. Scorns and mocking laugh? Hardly. They had never felt the need to be liked by many.

Fuji ran his thumb upon the soft lips. _/This is wrong, you know./_

Tezuka stayed still, only the slightest shifting of his face muscles under his touch. _/I know./_

He knew. They both knew. Carefully his index finger moved upward, slithering beneath the translucent glass, touching the edge of Tezuka's left eye. A masquerade so cold and perfectly crafted shouldn't have two apertures for the eyes. They spoke too many, unveiling those which should remain dormant, concealed from his perceptive ones. Silent offer was given, for him to choose.

Then Fuji leant forward, demolishing the remaining scale between them, locking their lips firmly. The other quickly responded. Words were lost as they spoke through soundless moans and ardent touches. Surge after surge of emotions washed through him; laborious hesitation, consuming anger, undeclared longing, the need to be each other's, all that had kept them suspended between hope and fear. Everything was woven into a long thread of silver floss, frail and yet binding, a formless attestation of their relationship. No one knew for how long it would last, until either one of them or other could pull it detached.

They broke apart, eyes were intense, flaring into the other's. A step they had taken into a circle where any pretense of formalities was left behind, where courteous words were needless, no longer shielding the tacit ones. Fuji smiled, savoring the other's presence to brush away his agony of raw uncertainty. It was a gentle caress of vernal breeze after long wintry nights spent loveless and alone.

"Tezuka," he called out softly, waiting for the other's eyes to introduce unsaid query. "The rain will fall soon. Let's get back to my house."

The taller guy nodded, releasing his friend from the inadequate space delimited by his arms. Fuji grabbed his duffel bag and once again they set off, leaving the unsavory past into a new stage of their life where one could be sure there was someone by his side. Always.

-Fin-

**Ramblings:** Really sorry for the ooc characters. Writing this was difficult and I would have dropped it if Fuji's voice in his new songs didn't continuously disturb me and my logic which told me that I had to study. I even desert my half-finished chapter for 'Symphonies of Life' only to write this. Yeah, two unfinished stories to go... Now that I think of it, will I ever write Prince of Tennis fanfic which is not Tezuka/Fuji? I just love this pairing too much ^^ Anyway, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy this and please give me reviews!


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